Necessary Sacrifice
by IvoryAlchemist
Summary: He was only out to get what he deserved. Obadiah's backstory.


He likes to think he was born this way - a product of genetic evolution and engineering. A mere victim at the hands of nature and helpless against his biology.

He knows he was not.

--

His father is a small man named Lyle Stane with hawk eyes and a scruffy beard who likes his scotch cheap, as well as his women. He leaves every morning and works in a factory, having been refused every other occupation due to an alcoholic tenancy and an ugly mauled face. His mother is tall and broad-shouldered and meek, with enormous blue eyes and a limp blonde hair that hangs over her face. She stays home with the children - three rowdy, raunchy boys - and wishes she could be anywhere but here, scrubbing away at filthy stained dishes in the small hot kitchen while the kids whoop and holler outside.

She favors her firstborn, a large solemn creature by the name of Obadiah, after her father, rest his soul. Obadiah is silent and ruthless, and rules the threesome with an iron fist, but he gives her no trouble and keeps the younger ones in line. He frightens her, sometimes, with his dark wit and intensity, but she knows a bargain when she sees one and stays mostly out of his way.

Her husband doesn't care much about any of his offspring but prefers to talk trucks with the youngest, a grungy wiry little boy called Joshua. The middle child is a whiny, doe-eyed thing named Sampson that everybody called Sam, who earns his keep by following his older brother's every command.

Lyle doesn't like his oldest son, who stands head and shoulders above him by the time he's thirteen and doesn't know how to take a beating. When Obadiah is fifteen years old Lyle grabs a clump of his brown hair and smashes his head into the sink counter one hot drunk night, the thirty-something bellowing about how he busted the fuck out of brats like him in the War, and knows the best way to shut up a Jap is a bullet through the skull and Obadiah damn well looked Japanese enough. Blood spurts out of the boy's mouth and he knows then, knows what has _got to be done. _

The next day Lyle Stane dies in his kitchen with a knife in his chest, blood thick and dark red and pasty around him, his screams loud and gruesome but not enough to make his boy sorry. Obadiah takes a hot shower to clean up and packs a bag full of clothes and steals his father's wallet and leaves. The two boys go to live with their aunt and their mother vanishes off somewhere, not even trying to hide the little happy smile on her face as she stands at the train station, head tilted towards the sky and muttering: "Thank you, Obadiah. Thank God for you."

--

In the hot sweaty jungles of Vietnam, he wanders through thick underbrush with a heavy machine gun in his hand and a few scraggly young boys trailing behind, staggering through the forest with fear in their hearts as they try to understand how they went from a senior year of parties and pot smoke to this. Obadiah blinks the sweat out of his eyes and thinks of his mother, washing away on those sweltering summer days in the blistering heat of the cramped kitchen. His boots sink into the thick mud and make a guttural squelch as he pulls them out again, and it reminds him of stepping barefoot through the blood puddle around his father's cold dead body that fateful night, the thick syrupy fluid sticking his feet to the floor.

He scrubs his face with his sleeve and knows that he has not yet achieved his destiny.

He hears movement in the distance and pulls the platoon up short. He points silently to the north-west ahead of the them, and they raise their guns, eyes wide. The next moment a person bursts out of the trees and plants and Obadiah cringes slightly as the boys fire their weapons, bullets shattering the natural jungle sounds.

A young Vietnamese boy lays dead on the forest floor, jaw hanging open and blood oozing out of countless bullet holes. One of Obadiah's soldiers seizes up and staggers backward, face contorted into madness as he wailed unintelligibly. The other boys stand in silent horror.

Obadiah rolls his eyes and motions for them to keep walking, the fools. They have yet to learn the difference between a murder and a necessary sacrifice.

--

In the summer of 1963, Obadiah meets a serious 40-year-old man named Howard Stark, Jr. He is average height and leanly built, with piercing blue eyes and a grave expression, brown hair greying at the temples. He designs weapons for the military, and was rumored to be involved with the Manhattan Project during World War II.

Stark has a good eye for talent, and he sees that Obadiah is a frugal, clever businessman and a master of office politics. He confesses himself to be something of an idealist, uninterested by the nitty-gritty of business and looking for somebody to be the CFO of a company he was starting.

Obadiah looks the older man up and down with a critical eye and decides to accept the offer.

--

Maria Stark is a beautiful, brown-eyed princess from a close-knit Jewish family that Howard picked up on a vacation to Europe. She was raised in Poland but speaks fluent english, and is nearly half Howard's age at only twenty-two. Obadiah finds her alluring and mysterious, but he is no fool and will not be distracted from his success by a _woman._ She is Howard's second wife, and is pregnant within three months of their marriage.

Early one April morning in 1965, she calls Obadiah on the phone. "Mr. Stane, I think... oh, I think I'm in labor..."

Obadiah pulls off his glasses and sets down the paper he was reviewing. "Where's Howard?"

He hears a low groan through the phone and what sounds like uneven footsteps. "Still - still in Vietnam on some demonstration. I need you... ah! Can you drive me? To the hospital? I know we have... have a driver, but I'd rather if a friend of family was around..."

Obadiah stared ahead at the wall in front of him, evaluating the situation quickly. He can only see how this will benefit his standing with Howard. "Certainly, Mrs. Stark. I'll be over in a few minutes." He hangs up the phone and drives her to hospital, as promised.

--

For a newborn infant, Anthony Edward Stark resembles nothing so much as a wrinkly old man, in Obadiah's opinion. The baby is resting peacefully in his incubator by his mother's hospital bed as she sleeps soundly, yet to rise from her laughing-gas induced slumber. She was out for the entire labor.

He hears a soft moan and looks up at Maria, whose dark brown eyes open slowly, her chocolate hair fanned out around her head like a halo.

She looks at him questioningly, and he nods towards the quiet bundle in the basket. Her face blossoms into a warm smile as she reaches out, sleepily pulling her new son into her arms. She traces his tiny face with her fingers, kissing his eyelids and murmuring sweet nothings in his ear. She twirls her fingers in his silky black hair, brushing her thumb under his squinting brown eyes.

Obadiah wonders if his mother ever held him as an infant.

He guesses she did not.

--

Tony Stark is a brilliant child. Obadiah recognizes immediately that the boy is now his primary competition, forget Howard.

The boy's weakness is the nature of his temperament: sweet-hearted and gullible, like his mother. Energetic, charming and insecure. Obadiah knows that the closer the boy is to him, the more manipulatable he will be.

Obadiah sends the bouncing, babbling child a frustrated glance. "Tony. Sit _down._" The boy's fingers are rummaging greedily all over Obadiah's desk, until at last they come upon a rare and valuable glass sculpture.

"Oh..." Tony exclaims softly, taking the item as his own. The child is spoiled and indulged to the point of his delusional belief that he had an absolute right to everything, everywhere.

Tony's fingers slipped and the piece dropped to the floor, splintering into a thousand irreparable shards. The boy watches for a moment in fascination as the light glints off the glass, and then shifts his focus back the menagarie of curiosities that is Obadiah's office.

Obadiah himself steps quietly behind Tony, lifts the five-year old easily from the chair and plants him on the floor. He cups his massive hand behind the child's tiny head and points to the mess. "You did this, Anthony?" He breathes softly, hawk eyes piercing.

"Yeah-yeah. Sorry." Tony says cheerily, offering Obadiah a dimpled smile and two glowing brown eyes.

Obadiah delivers his godson a smack that leaves his nose bleeding and mind reeling.

Ought to teach the boy a lesson.

--

One night in the late evening of 1974, Obadiah and Maria sit on the couch waiting for Howard Stark to show. Tony is being begrudgingly taught to play piano in the next room, and the music wafts into the living room as Obadiah pours them each a glass.

Maria shakes her head and frowns. "I'm leaving him."

Obadiah's head snaps up. "What?"

Maria looks at him cautiously. "I can't live like this, Obie. I love Howard, I do... but I can't always be second best. He loves his work more and seems more than willing to leave me and his only son alone at home all day." She looks down at her drink and sips it. "You've been more of a father to Tony than Howard, though we both know Tony would never admit it. Just last week, Howard promised Tony he'd work with him on Tony's new AI he's making--" She chokes up suddenly, wiping angrily at her teary eyes. "Tony waited _all night. _Howard never showed and I came down the next morning and Tony had cried himself to sleep. Howard just broke his heart, and you know what makes it worse? He came home and didn't even remember promising Tony. Didn't even apologize." She looks up at Obadiah, her face weary and aged beyond it's years. "All night, Obie. It just breaks my heart."

Obadiah watches in silent stillness.

Maria motions to him. "You work hard! You get all kinds of work done, but you still _manage _to see Tony - and you're not even his father!" She hiccups and leans back into the cushion of the couch. "I'm sorry - I just get really emotional. I'm going to file for divorce soon. I still have to figure out how to break it to Howard." She smiles at Obadiah and rests her hand on his arm, and he suppresses his urge to reflexively flinch away.

"You've been really to good to me, Obadiah. Me and Tony. Thank you. It's means so much to both of us, it really does. Tony really looks up to you."

Howard Stark shows up 20 minutes later and the family of three load into the car to go - belatedly - to a benefit party. Maria plans to break the news once they get home.

She never does.

The chauffeur swerves to avoid a drunk driver and smashes into a tree, killing the driver and Howard instantly. Obadiah arrives at the scene of the crash long before any emergency personnel reach the area. He was alerted by the Stark family's semi-sentient computer.

He looks in through the window, a spiderweb of tiny fractures splintered through the glass. Maria's chest moves shallowly with each painful breath, blood dribbling from her parted lips.

He hears a high-pitched whine from the other side of the backseat; there the boy lies, eyelids fluttering and a minor head wound oozing bright red.

Obadiah walks around and opens the door, looking into Tony's bruised face.

_The metal is cool and smooth under his fingertips, slick with blood and sweat. The old man's face is twisted up, teeth bared like a frightened animal as he crumples to the ground. It won't be long now._

Obadiah reaches for a piece of pointed bent metal that is gouged into the leather seat. He yanks it free and fingers it in his large hand, presses it gently against the little one's heaving ribcage. He looks into the child's eyes - the boy has no idea.

It would be quick, and relatively painless. Spare the poor boy the grief of losing both his parents. Would look like a piece of debris impaled him during the crash. And it would finally allow Obadiah to get what he wanted.

What he _deserved._

Maria Stark distracts him with a tiny sigh and then silence, never to make another sound again. Now there is only the harsh, wet breathing of Tony and smooth panting of Obadiah left to fill the air.

Obadiah draws his hand back and then thrusts it forward fiercely, watches as it rips through the expensive black leather like a knife through hot butter. He twists it, foam cushion bulging through the tattered edges.

The little boy hiccups and moves his head, just barely, and smacks his lips. He is unharmed.

There are some things even Obadiah cannot explain.

--

The boy is sweet. Obadiah can forgive him - _almost - _for his arrogance and his genius because of sheer impulsive sweetness of his nature.

Almost.

Tony rests his head against the car door and sighs drearily, a young fifteen who is not sure he wants to be shipped off to MIT just yet.

Obadiah killed his father and made his own way when he was fifteen, and he didn't have any fancy cars to cart him around.

"Time to go, Tony." Tony lifts his head slowly and shoots Stane a sorrowful look. Obadiah blinks. "Go."

The boy shakes his head and smears tears from his eyes. "No. I don't want to go." He breathes.

Obadiah grunts in annoyance. "Out."

"No!"

"_Don't you dare talk back to me!" _Obadiah thunders at him, his massive frame towering over the teenager. He grabs the kid's mangy chocolate hair and bangs his head into the car.

The boy is openly sobbing now, clawing with thin fingers at his guardian's wrist. "No! NO! don't- please- I don't want to-" The child hiccups and chokes, his lips sputtering all over his snotty face.

Obadiah grabs him by his suit lapels, his meaty claws wrinkling into the stiff fabric and his round red face inches from Tony's. "_I"m not your father, Tony. I don't want to follow you around all my life like some fucking babysitter. You can go to school or I swear to god I'll give you over to a fucking orphanage._"

Tony, face cramped into an ugly gnarled open-mouthed sob, nods rapidly. "O-okay. I'll go... I'll go." He wheezes and gasps, whole body folded over and expression distraught. "Please Obie - please come visit me?"

Obadiah releases him and smiles jovially. "Of course I'll visit you, m'boy. Have fun."

--

When he is twenty-one, the scrawny genius boy decides he's ready to take the reins on Stark Industries.

"I'm old enough now, Obie. I shouldn't keep expecting you just to run everything behind-the-scenes. Time for me to man up and do it my self."

Obadiah is not afraid. Tony is still a child and still terrified of him as much as he is grotesquely dependent.

"Absolutely, Tony. That's great news. I'll be here to answer all your questions, okay?"

Tony gives him a relieved grin and bounces up and down on his toes. "Good. Good, great. Okay." He claps his hands together merrily. "Great."

--

Pepper Potts is as obnoxious as she is gorgeous. She controls Tony in every way, micromanages him to the extreme. She has nearly as much power in Stark Industries as Obadiah does - and she's a _personal assistant. _

To think, it had been Obadiah's own idea to get the boy a damn P.A.

Even more revolting is that pathetic, puppy-dog way Tony follows her around everywhere, looking at her with those enormous, enamored eyes whenever he thinks nobody's looking.

Worst of all, Pepper's helping that bumbling fool of a man wise up to what's going on. Just last month, she informed Tony of some perplexing gaps in profit - I don't know what it is, Mr. Stark, of course. But if I didn't know any better I'd say it looks like some dealing under the table, maybe. I'd suggest you look into it if you have time.

Stupid woman.

"Have you laid her yet?"

Tony raised his shaggy brown head and eyed Obadiah questioningly. "Who?"

"Pepper."

The 35 year-old's expression shifts from questioning to distracted. "Oh, no, no. Of course not. We're just professionally involved."

Obadiah snorts and sips at his bourbon, reclining back into the overstuffed couch. Tony cringes.

"I don't know. She's not my type."

Stane smacks his lips. "I wasn't aware you had a type, Tony."

He laughs - Obadiah hates that laugh. Nervous and high-pitched and childish. "Ah, true, true, Obie. But Pepper's different - you know that type of woman. She needs to be handled with delicacy." Tony throws down a gulp of liquor and pours himself another. "Why do you ask?" He waggles his dark brown eyebrows. "You interested?"

Obadiah let's out a breathy chuckle. "Hardly." He gives Tony a pointed glance. "She'd be easier to catch if you didn't try and fuck everything that moved, Tony. I know that you're - " He waved his hand vaguely, "fond of her. Whatever. You want her. Stop bullshitting around and settle down with her, then. Maybe even squeeze out a few."

Tony gapes like a fish. "What? _Settle down?" _He sits back and shakes his head disbelievingly. "I never thought I'd hear you say the words, Obie. I don't want all that shit. Pepper and I are fine right where we are. If she eventually comes around to putting out a bit, great. If she doesn't, worse things have happened." He smiles charmingly. "Everything's fine the way it is."

Thick-headed niave little child. If he'd just marry that stuck-up bitch maybe she'd shut her fucking trap and get busy cooking dinner for the kids. "Oh, Tony. I should have known. You're too stuck in your ways." He lifts his glass and grin gregariously. "To a life of debauchery and guilty pleasures."

Tony laughs and taps his glass in agreement.

Obadiah realizes he's known this man for 35 years, watched him blossom from an incompetent child to a brilliant inventor. But the boy is overstepping his bounds, getting dangerously near truths he has no business discovering. The fool. Howard Stark had known his place, had known not to meddle, and kept himself busy with all his gizmos and gadgets and that pretty young wife. Obadiah had hoped Tony would follow his footsteps, but he had to choose _Pepper. _The blithering idiot had defied company orders and kept her on when Obadiah had pulled strings to get her sacked, had become hysterical and unmanageable when Obadiah had Pepper go 'missing' one day with the help of two burly henchmen - he was forced to return her for fear of sending Tony into some kind of homicidal psychosis. He is pathetically in love with that yappy little bitch and Obadiah can see he has very few options left.

He already has a plan mapped out in his mind. Something quick and quiet and far, far away. Middle East, maybe.

Tony sighs. "It's good to have you around, Obie. You know. Watch my back." He looks painfully earnest and awkward. "I don't know what I'd do without you around, man."

Afghanistan sounds good.

FIN.


End file.
